0600 Hours
by DaybyDay
Summary: It's 0600 hours well 0615 now, to be more specific , and Spock's unwilling to get up, the warm blankets and plethora of soft dark skin laid before him much more interesting then any words his colleagues may have for him this morning.


**0600 Hours**

The clock- it reads 0600 hours. From his position on the bed, Spock can see the hints of simulated sunlight creeping through the crease in the blinds in the one "window" in his quarters. The light, bright and friendly, mocks Spock as a farce, day in and day out. He stands it's presence only for Nyota, who's partial to sunrises and says it's the only thing she truly misses about being planet-side.

Speaking of his partner, Nyota is currently sprawled out on her back, legs tucked to one side, one arm above her head; the other curled in the sheet bunched around her waist. His eyes drift over her features, expressions soft in sleep, eyelids twitching in REM. Her hair blankets the pillow and from his spot, he reaches over and curls the strands through his fingers. His touch, although light, stirs her just slightly, and she murmurs his name under her breath, eliciting a small twitch of a grin on his lips.

It's 0600 hours, and he's got to be on the bridge soon enough, relieving the night officer of his duties in time for Kirk to stride in confidently, handing his First Officer a cup of tea while sipping his own coffee. Nyota herself will appear when her shift begins, an hour after his own, and they will sit side by side at their stations, professional faces on. Sure, their bridge is one of family; of tight-knit friends bonded strong even though they've only been a team for what is what seemingly is a short period of time, but there's a time and place for everything. Their discretion makes it more intense to take off the masks when they're outside their jobs; Kirk once told him that it must "keep things exciting". This comment, unsurprisingly, being punctuated by a raised eyebrow and a wink.

It's 0600 hours (well 0615 now, to be more specific), and Spock's unwilling to get up, the warm blankets and plethora of soft dark skin laid before him much more interesting then any words his colleagues may have for him this morning. His fingertips trail and tip-toe down the curve of Nyota's arm, and she breathes deeply, silently, against his hand as it brushes easily past her face.

Down, down, he watches his own hand travel; over the curve of her shoulder, gently over the swell of her breasts, hidden underneath the Starfleet pajama top she's wearing. As it goes lower, lower still, the soft fabric pulls taut over the swell of her belly, where there's recent promise of new life formed; albeit very young and hardly seen. He gives up his light tickling of a touch at this juncture, flattening the palm of his hand to where his and Nyota's child lay, nestled safe inside his mother.

More then just Nyota herself, Spock has never been more fascinated with his lover then when she announced she was pregnant with their child. The weeks went by and she hummed, hawed, glowed and complained very little. It seems their baby would not be the difficult child he'd been while his own mother was pregnant with him, and for that he was eternally grateful. While unplanned, Nyota took to oncoming motherhood with grace; she'd had her difficult moments, but she knew she was a lucky one.

The heat radiating off of her under his hands was heavy and comforting. It seems their child had already inherited his higher body temperature - it was one of the few things Nyota jokingly complained of.

"It's like having a warm, living stone inside your body," She teased, as she stripped off her the initial layer of her Starfleet uniform post-shift a few days earlier. She'd glanced at Spock and then smoothed a hand down the bump, "I just hope he or she gets the ears as well. I still do believe it's one of your most handsome traits."

Now, as Spock's hands unfold carefully on Nyota's belly, he closes his eyes deftly against the clock glaring at him from across the room, reminding him of his need to be on the bridge soon. Instead of allowing it to deter him, Spock, for once, let his curiosity and need for his lover and unborn child to outweigh whatever Jim Kirk might need to snarkily discuss at such a early hour. His eyes flutters shut and he centers himself, placing as much concentration as he could on the being he helped create, reaching for the baby with his telepath skills as lightly and gently as he can.

After a sweet moment of wading through Nyota's dreams and outpouring radiate emotions, he reaches their child. There isn't much; not yet - he doesn't expect there to be. It's just soft light and pure need; hunger and colors and knowing there is much to come. Their child's mind, though far from fully developed, is aware of their presence, although in the simplest of terms, and he very gently acknowledges this, and shares as much love and outpouring emotion he can muster without overbearing such a delicate being.

Suddenly, Nyota's hand covers his, fingers closing over his, weaving through his own. Without breaking the connection, Spock allows her in; allows her to see what he sees; feel what he's feeling.

After a few moments his eyes open and he looks up at his lover, his best friend, not so surprised to see tears flowing down her cheeks. By now, he knows not to mistake these tears for sadness or fear; they're simply one of happiness, of awe. She's in awe.

"I didn't know you could do that," She whispers, her hand sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck as she slides closer to him. Her leg hooks over his, and he takes a moment to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I was not sure I would be able to," He answers, truthfully, "Between the combined genetic makeup our child has and his or her state of development, I wasn't sure if it'd be possible."

"Apparently, it is," She smiles, kissing his jawline softly.

"I apologize," He continues, "If it was an inappropriate gesture to attempt while you were asleep."

"Don't." She insists, her hands sliding under his top, flattening against his strong, toned stomach and pushing the material to bunch under his arms. Her lips find a weak spot under his ear and she grins against his skin while he nearly keens under her ministrations, a low rumble coming from his throat. Her eyes flicker over his shoulder at the clock, and she nips at his earlobe as she whispers.

"It is nearly 0700 hours, Commander Spock," She smiles, a fingertip trailing over the point of his ear, "You are going to be late."

He smirks and leans in to capture her lips with his.

"I am sure Captain Kirk will understand."

It's nearly 0700 hours, and Commander Spock, First Officer and Chief Science Officer of the newly rehabilitated Enterprise, is without a doubt going to be late to his shift. Instead, he's throwing caution to the wind, accepting his human desire to be with his lover and their child for just a little longer. He's choosing to indulge instead of push away, hold close instead of close off. He won't be his father, he knows. He'll be a father in the same way Nyota taught him to embrace his humanity; through all faults, difficulties and road bumps.

At 0740 hours, Spock will appear on the bridge, an apology to the Captain on his lips. Kirk will not hear of it, he'll learn, and instead he'll receive a wink and a "No problem Commander - just don't make it a habit."

When 0800 hours crawls in, Nyota will be on time, hair pulled back, Starfleet uniform impeccable and a impassive expression on her face. When she sits, her eyes will glance over to Spock's, and they will exchange silent words without fail.

He'll turn away, a slight smile on his lips; a smile he, at this juncture, only reserves for her. One day, it will be shared with their child, but right now, at this moment, she's the only one who gets this piece of his humanity. 


End file.
